In Stone's Clasp

by Christie Golden

  “What do you plan to do?”

  “My little Lorekeeper traitor will be more than able to do what I tell her. An opportunity will come again. And do not forget—the Ice Maiden has power over men. None can stand against her. Not even the Stone Dancer.”

  The advisor relaxed. “That is true,” he said. “But Kevla is not a man.”

  The Emperor drew back thin lips in a smile. The ki-lyn lowered its head, jingling the ever-present golden chain with the movement.

  “Ah, and neither,” said the Emperor in a cool voice, “is the Lorekeeper.”

  They returned to the encampment, Jareth on the Tiger and Kevla, Hanru, Altan and Mylikki aboard the Dragon. Kevla had not realized how very much she had missed this—her legs astraddle his smooth scales, her hands loosely grasping his spine ridges more for something to do than from any true fear of falling.

  I think travel by Dragon is preferable to all other ways, she thought to him, reaching down to hug him.

  I think you are a very discerning individual, the Dragon replied. Kevla looked down. The night was again clear and crisp, and the moon was almost full. She could see almost as well as she could in the daylight, and could easily make out the form of the running Tiger and Jareth. She smiled at the sight. Any ordinary beast such as a horse or a sa’abah would have fallen far behind by now.

  Her smile faded as she saw the enormous black shadow dragon keeping pace with them on the snow.

  Shadow.

  She had been so focused on first finding Jareth, then convincing him to join her, that she had almost forgotten what they were truly facing. She shuddered, and turned her eyes forward.

  They were coming up on the taaskali encampment now. Kevla could see at least six fire rings, dancing yellow and orange against the cool hues of the snow, and wondered why they had lit so many. The taaskali numbered only two dozen or so. The selva were all clustered together in one place, which struck her as unusual. Usually the taaskali let them roam as they would. Why had they gathered them together like this?

  The Dragon and the Tiger reached the encampment about the same time. The Dragon landed gently and his riders dismounted into the snow. Hanru hurried up to another taaskali and they whispered in their musical language.

  “Dragon, what’s going on?” Kevla inquired. All of the selva were regarding Jareth intently. They seemed completely unaware of the presence of the Tiger in their midst. It was a strange sight, and Jareth looked completely confused.

  “I stayed behind to perform a task,” the Dragon said. “Now, Jareth must complete it.”

  “What task?” Jareth sounded exasperated. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Look again at the selva,” the Tiger said, speaking up for the first time since her arrival. “Behold them, and know that you look upon the Lorekeepers of Lamal.”

  31

  “How can this be?” Kevla cried.

  “A thousand years ago,” said Hanru, “there was among the Lorekeepers a man of unprecedented vision and wisdom named Caldan. He was able to see into the future. He saw many things, and one thing he beheld was that the Lorekeepers of Lamal would be in danger at the time when their memories would be needed most—when the Dancers were born, and the final fight against the Shadow took place. Caldan had in his possession an object of great power, and this was how he turned all the Lorekeepers into the selva. Disguised as beasts, they would be safe from any who would exploit their knowledge.”

  He smiled slightly.

  “Caldan knew the selva would need to be taken care of. And the spirits of the forest answered the call. We agreed to take on human form and make sure these precious beings came to no harm. Thus were born the taaskali.”

  Kevla gasped, but she realized she was not altogether surprised. She had known that the taaskali were something other than human, just as the selva were more than simple beasts.

  She recalled her confusion when she first came to Lamal and found not a single Lorekeeper. No one, indeed, had ever heard of such a thing. Yet the evidence that they had once been in this land lay in the song, “Fighting Back the Shadow.”

  “Paiva told me that the forest spirits were gone,” Jareth said. “You weren’t gone…you were just in a different form.”

  “Exactly,” Hanru said. “For a thousand years, we have been waiting for you, Stone Dancer.”

  “Dragon, you knew this!” cried Kevla.

  “Not until I saw them,” the Dragon answered. “In Kevla’s land, there were beings that the Arukani called kulis. They were thought to be demons, and shunned. I knew better.”

  “But—but the kulis really weren’t demons,” Mylikki said, frowning as she tried to wrap her mind around what had happened. “They were just children, abandoned by their families.”

  “Perception and reality are tricky things, and are often one and the same,” the Tiger chimed in. “It is but a degree of difference. The Dragon could see them as they truly were, and he made them remember—”

  “Who they were,” breathed Kevla, tears stinging her eyes as she regarded her old friend with new appreciation. Her mind went back to when she stood before him for the first time, on a ledge overhanging a pit of fire and molten stone, and the question he asked over and over again: DO YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE? He had seen at once what the selva were, and stayed behind when Kevla and the others went with Jareth to find the Tiger so that he could remind them of their true natures.

  “I had the right question to ask them, that is all,” the Dragon said.

  Kevla looked at the Tiger, who gazed back at her steadily. She wondered what the Tiger’s question was, and how Jareth had learned the answer.

  “They now have their minds and memories restored,” the Dragon continued. “But only the Dancer of this land can give them back their true forms.”

  Jareth stared at the selva. They gazed back at him, their silver eyes catching the glow of the fire, and he saw the human intelligence in those eyes.

  “How do I…what do I…” He looked beseechingly at the Tiger for aid.

  She half closed her eyes and rumbled, “You know what to do. Lorekeepers exist to serve the Dancers. Call them, and they will come to you.”

  He licked dry lips. The Tiger, the Dragon, Hanru—they were all crediting him with more ability than he suspected he possessed. He stood where he was for a long moment, unable to move. What if he tried and failed? They would be people locked in animal form for the rest of their lives. What if he—

  You have lived so long in fear, Stone Dancer. The words were not spoken aloud, but inside his head. He recognized the voice as that of the Tiger. Aren’t you tired of it?

  Yes, he thought, admitting it for the first time. He remembered a night long ago, when he had cast his doubt into the harvest-fire flames and let them take it. I don’t want to be afraid of failing anymore.

  He walked steadily toward the first selva and placed his hands on either side of its large, white head. Gazing into its eyes, he searched for and found the human within.

  I see you, he thought, and closed his eyes. I see you as you are. Be as you were, Lorekeeper of Lamal. Find your true nature.

  He felt the fur caressing his palms shorten, become warm skin. The head grew smaller between his hands, moved closer to the ground, and when he opened his eyes he found himself staring at an older, wise-looking woman. He heard a rustle as Kevla wrapped her gently in a blanket that might have been woven from the fur of the beast the old woman once was.

  “Stone Dancer,” the woman said in a voice that sounded as if it had not been used for some time, “Caldan promised you’d come.”

  One by one, the great beasts came to him to be liberated from their assumed shapes. One by one, Jareth touched them, found the man or woman or child within, and shifted their shape from beast to human. By the time the last calf had trotted up to him, to be turned into a beautiful little boy, Jareth was almost overwhelmed by emotion.

  He turned and looked at the Tiger. It’s…humbling, Tiger. And empowering at the
same time.

  That, thought the Tiger, and Jareth felt bathed in the warmth of her pride, is what it is to be a Dancer.

  This is why you wouldn’t let me find you the first time I tried. You knew this task was waiting for me, and that I would need the aid of Kevla’s Companion to complete it.

  Abruptly Jareth’s strength fled. His knees buckled and he dropped to the snow. Immediately Kevla and Altan were there, wrapping him in blankets and pressing hot tea and food into his hands.

  “Thank you, Stone Dancer,” Hanru said. “You have released us from our charge.”

  Chewing on dried meat, Jareth said, “But you haven’t changed,” said Jareth. “You’re still taaskali. Do you need me to help you change back to your true form as well?”

  Hanru chuckled. “You can help the Lorekeepers because in a way all of them are linked to you. We are linked to the earth, and until you have defeated she who holds this land in thrall, we cannot again become what we once were.”

  “The Ice Maiden,” Jareth said. He looked at his companions. “That’s what I was going to tell you. The Ice Maiden is no myth. She’s very real.”

  “What?” gasped Altan.

  “She’s real,” Jareth repeated. “It’s she who holds the land in this unnatural winter. My powers aren’t gone—she’s blocking them, preventing me from using them.” He opened his mouth to continue, looked at their stunned expressions, and said, “Perhaps we should start from the beginning.”

  “A tale is usually told best that way,” Altan said. To Jareth’s amusement, he had found his kyndela and was already setting about tuning it.

  In a steady voice that carried in the clear, still night, Jareth spoke of how he had first learned of his own abilities. He was surprised at how easy it was to speak of something that had always been so fraught with fear and pain to him. He told them how he had thought he was the Spring-Bringer, and how devastated he had been when the powers seemed to have vanished.

  “But I have learned today that I am something…someone…quite different from who I always thought I was,” he said, still feeling pain and sorrow as well as joy in the discovery. “I have a greater responsibility, and I will not shirk it. Every day, people are dying because of the Ice Maiden’s winter. We have to stop her. Now.”

  “How do we do that?” asked Mylikki.

  “You and Altan may know more about that than Kevla and I,” Jareth said. “For years, huskaas have been performing a set of three songs called the Circle of Ice. It’s the only information we have about the Ice Maiden. What do the songs tell us?”

  “Well, she starts off as just a young woman whose heart was broken by a man careless of her love,” said Mylikki. “She called on dark powers so that she might capture men’s souls and bend them to her will, in order to have vengeance upon all men for the wrongs one had done.

  “She turns men’s hearts to ice, so they can love only her,” Altan continued. “The first song is about a young man going in search of the maiden, thinking he can make her fall in love with him. An old man warns him about the folly of such a venture and tells his own story. The second song in the Circle is sung by the young man in the first song, who’s now been enchanted. He’s doing the same thing to another girl that the Ice Maiden’s lover did to her—seducing her and breaking her heart.”

  “And the third song is sung by the Maiden herself, explaining how she came to be,” finished Mylikki.

  “That’s not a lot of solid information,” said Kevla. “Is there anything about a weakness she might have? Where she lives?”

  Mylikki and Altan exchanged glances. “There are a few verses that get left out,” Mylikki said. “We can analyze them. See if there’s anything useful there.”

  “Good,” said Kevla. “Examine the songs and tell us anything you can think of. Jareth and I will listen to the Lorekeepers. They may have something to say that will help us.”

  The hours passed well into the night. Jareth and Kevla sat side by side on a selva-wool blanket in front of the fire, and one by one, the Lorekeepers of Lamal came to them. The stories they told were beautiful, humorous, heartbreaking, tragic, and inspiring. Some remembered only personal anecdotes, such as when a young woman looked shyly at Kevla and said, “You gave me some coins from your purse, that day when you went to the market.”

  “That was the day that I was…was murdered,” Kevla said softly. While the memories came back to her, they were always strangely distant, as if they had happened to someone else. Kevla looked into the girlish face and saw the old woman to whom she, as a wealthy youth, had given a handful of coppers to. “I remember,” Kevla said, softly.

  Other stories, other lives. Kevla was sorry that Mylikki and Altan were not here to hear these stories. There was a song in every one of them, she was certain. But the two musicians had a more important task than gathering songs for future generations. If the Ice Maiden was not stopped and Jareth’s powers regained, if this world was not saved by the Dancers standing together against the Shadow, then there would be no future generations to sing songs or tell tales.

  The Dragon returned from his hunt with two kirvi deer clutched in his forepaws. Kevla’s mouth watered as she anticipated the meal, and she glanced at Jareth. For a moment, she wondered how it was that Jareth was able to eat animal flesh at all, if he could mentally speak with the creatures that he summoned. Then she realized that the Stone Dancer had the same connection with everything that was of the earth—grass, trees, even rocks. Everything was sentient to him; therefore he would need to feed on the death of something, regardless if it were animal or plant.

  The thought was unbearably sad. Without thinking, she placed a hand on his arm. Jareth gazed into her eyes, frowning a little, not understanding what she meant by the gesture. She shook her head and smiled, and let him go.

  At last, all the Lorekeepers had had a chance to meet with the Dancers. Jareth sighed heavily and said to the Tiger, “He is not here.”

  “No,” the Tiger said.

  Kevla knew who they were talking about. The Stone Dancer had found his Companion, but not his Lorekeeper. Not the fellow human who would be closer to him than anyone in the world. Clearly, Jareth had hoped to find this one unique Lorekeeper in the company of the others.

  “Hanru, you are certain these are all the Lorekeepers of Lamal?” Jareth asked.

  “I am,” Hanru replied. “We have tended them for generations. They are all here.”

  “Remember,” put in the Tiger, “the Dancer’s Lorekeeper is different from the others. He or she is the Dancer’s soul.”

  Kevla’s eyes widened. She remembered Jashemi speaking to her as they had made love: There is destiny here. I feel it…I know it. We were meant to be together. I belong to you completely, Kevla. I always have, and I always will. No matter what happens—no matter who or what we are—know that I am yours. You are my soul. And then again, in the dream the selva had granted Kevla, Jashemi the Lorekeeper had said of those words—“He was almost right. I am your soul, Flame Dancer.”

  She felt him again, warm in her heart. He was her soul. Kevla knew she could have had no brighter or better one, and barely aware that she did so, she pressed her hand over her heart, sealing Jashemi in.

  “He could have died,” Kevla said softly. Jareth jerked his head to stare at her, and she wished she hadn’t spoken.

  “That is possible,” agreed the Tiger. “But if he were alive here, among this group, we would know it.”

  Jareth sat quietly for a moment, absorbing the information. Kevla thought he was adjusting remarkably well. She remembered how much of a shock this had all been to her.

  “What happened to Caldan?” Jareth asked.

  Hanru replied, “He was planning to leave Lamal, after he changed the other Lorekeepers and us. That much I know. Where he went, I know not.”

  Jareth shook his head, as if chasing away thoughts. “It doesn’t matter right now. What does matter is finding the Ice Maiden. Altan! Did you and Mylikki figure anything out?”<
br />
  They looked at each other, rose, and approached. Kevla thought she had never seen them look so dejected.

  “We went over the lyrics,” Mylikki said, rubbing at her tired eyes.

  “And over, and over,” said Altan.

  “We even went through the various regional modifications Altan had learned in his travels,” Mylikki said. “Nothing. The closest clue we found is in the first song, in which the young rider says, ‘They tell me she dwells here.’ But of course the song never tells you where ‘here’ is.”

  “Although apparently the Ice Maiden is real,” said Altan, “I think she doesn’t really dwell anywhere, at least in the songs. She…she lives where there is cruelty and meanness.”

  “Not through the forest and up the hill,” sighed Jareth. “I understand your meaning.”

  “What’s the first song called again?” Kevla asked. Perhaps she and Jareth could discover something the two performers hadn’t.

  “Logically enough, just ‘The Ice Maiden,’” Altan replied.

  “All right. The second?”

  “‘Circle of Ice,’ and the last, ‘Circle Completed.’ The idea is, it’s like a circle. Someone gets hurt, she hurts someone else, and that person hurts a third person because he’s been hurt, and we’re back to the beginning.”

  “A circle of heartbreak,” said Kevla. “A circle of ice. What a sad thing.”

  Hanru had been listening. “What did you say, Kevla?”

  “We were discussing a song cycle about the Ice Maiden,” Kevla said. “It’s called ‘Circle of Ice.’ We were hoping to find clues to—”

  A memory raced back to Kevla. She recalled awakening the morning after the storm she and Mylikki had weathered together, looking out to where the Dragon had indicated the men of the woods were lurking. She had seen such a circle, a ring of ice glittering atop the snow.

  Hope surged within her. “I think I’ve seen one,” she said. “A circle of ice. A real one.”

  Hanru said, “We have seen many of them. They began appearing on the ground about nine, ten moons ago. The selva won’t—wouldn’t—go near them, and neither will we. There is…something bad there. Something evil.”